Borgin and Burkes: Behind the Counter
by NeverMore005
Summary: We've all heard of the strange and intriguing artifacts at Borgin and Burkes...but what are their stories? Always in progress.
1. INTRO

Borgin and Burke's: Behind the Counter

A/N: Let's just say I got bored.

After reading Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, (AGAIN0, I made a mental note of what J. K. Rowling mentioned during Harry's 'visit' to Borgin and Burkes. Something inside me was dying to know what had happened to the previous owners of these dark objects, so I opened up every single HP book I had, (i.e. all of them), in hopes of finding more on the subject. In the sixth book, the author herself graces you with a bit of information concerning some of Slytherin's relics, but she never really addresses the other merchandise lurking about that strange, gloomy pawn shop.

Skulls, necklaces, glass eyes, shrunken heads, hangman's rope…there were so many grisly stories left to tell.

I couldn't help myself.

I have no idea when this collection of dark stories will be completed…and keep in mind that, since Rowling's description was rather limited, I took it upon myself to invent a few items of my own. ;) Enjoy.


	2. The Devil's Gems

The Devil's Gems

_Beautiful sins for a beautiful throat._

That's all that the note said.

Abigail hadn't seen the sender, nor had she seen the note delivered; she had simply turned around, and it was there. Along with that beautiful, awe-inspiring opal necklace.

Each stone was deliciously heavy on the silver chain; rainbows danced inside every jewel, and its weight in her hand was practically tantalizing. How much could she fetch for it? Her hand automatically made a move for the telephone, but she thought better of it. Let them come to her.

Besides, she had a Halloween party to go to tonight, and what better way to display a necklace than wearing it?

She had been receiving the notes for a little over a week now. At first, they had been disturbing—Hell, they were _still_ disturbing—but to be painfully honest, she favored the writer's latest delivery. They were always in the same place at the same time; atop her vanity table at eight 'o clock in the evening. And they were always written in red ink upon thick, expensive-looking parchment.

The first note had serenaded her body, her eyes…but simultaneously described the writer's lust for her in disturbingly intricate detail. She slept with the lights on for two nights afterward, but found another note the next night. That one was a little more descriptive than she would have liked, and the way that the narrator voiced his intentions was sadistic and chilling. As she had read it, though—her hand pressed against her mouth in silent horror—she could have sworn that she felt the softest of kisses against the back of her neck. When she turned around, however, she saw nothing.

This one—the third—was more her style. It was short, poetic, and more so, included a lavish gift. Smiling, she tied the gems around her neck and admired her reflection in the mirror.

"_Beautiful sins for a beautiful throat,"_ she echoed, smiling mischievously. "I like your taste, secret admirer. Maybe you're not so bad after all."

The party was fantastic, to say the least; drugs were everywhere, and the sickly-sweet scent of alcohol had captured the room. She had taken a few more shots than she had anticipated and ended up being driven home, even though she still didn't know who had driven her, or what he was doing in her room with her five minutes after he walked her to the door.

She had never met him before, but as he unzipped the back of her sparkling white dress, she didn't really care. The opals around her throat suddenly felt a little burdensome, and her hands fluttered up to the base of her neck to unfasten the lobster-clasp.

When she had unhooked it, however, she felt an unseen force fasten the two ends forcefully back together, and the necklace began to tighten dangerously around her neck. She let out a choked cry of protest, but the stranger just kissed her again, his hands pushing the dress down her body.

"You're wearing the necklace," he chuckled, lowering her onto the bed as she clutched the necklace, which was still tightening steadily. She took in a deep, raspy breath and clutched his shoulders desperately. _I don't want to die…I don't want to die…_ "I'm glad you liked it. Because now I can steal your last kiss, and that last breath that you're holding just for me…"

Tears streamed down her cheeks, but her vision was beginning to fade as his lips forced themselves onto hers…

The police found Abigail's body the next morning. Her lips were warm and pink with kisses, her body was bare on her four-poster bed, and around her neck was an intricate pattern of bruises...but the necklace was gone.

And after the funeral, her best friend came home to find a strange piece of parchment on her vanity table.


End file.
